Someone Else's Christmas
by BollyKnickers
Summary: Deep down, he knew his own joy was gone, lost forever, carried away in a gust of wind many moons ago. A oneshot, set in the future. Linc/Veronica, Sara/Michael.


**Someone Else's Christmas**

**A/N: **Okay, first fic of this fandom. One thing you will learn about me is that I LOVE Christmas. I know it's still a long way off, but this just came to me and wouldn't leave me alone so I had to write it. I've been very nostalgic these past few weeks; about my own family Christmases, and of course about my favorite ship, Lincoln/Veronica (oh how I miss them), so I suppose this shouldn't come as much of a surprise. It's nowhere near as good as some of the other stuff I've read on here though! This fandom really does seem to have some of the best fanfic writers in it! Anyway, this is set in the future, and hopefully not a major cheese fest because I hate 'married with kids' fics usually haha. Also, I HATE writing in the present tense, especially then mixing it with… uh…future tense? (I don't even know!), so if I've slipped up anywhere, please let me know!

Sorry it's so short.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own PB… if I did, Veronica would never have died… nuff said. Oh but I do own the children ;) (well not literally… I don't have children… ahem y'know what I mean).

-

Snowflakes glisten on frosted windows, birds chirping from a snow covered tree across the street. The room is bright with artificial lighting and glowing fairy lights scattered over a perfectly-decorated tree, gifts gathered beneath its branches waiting for Christmas morning. The sound of laughter fills the air and the man at the end of the room gazes longingly at the happy scene in front of him, wishing desperately that he could find it within himself to become a part of it, to stop feeling like the spare wheel. To find his own piece of joy, wherever it lay.

Deep down, he knew his own joy was gone, lost forever, carried away in a gust of wind many moons ago.

"Uncle Linc," a voice from across the room calls, holding up a cardboard star and grinning with a smile that's missing half its teeth, "look what I made!"

Before he knows what is happening, 40 pounds of five-year-old is propelling itself in his direction and he gathers the child up into his arms to inspect the golden object in his niece's hands. One of its points has snapped off and there's more glitter on her than there is on the piece of card, but she's proud of it and he knows that's all that matters. With a nod of appreciation he hands the star back and grins at her, ruffling her honey-colored hair gently and watching her bound back to her brother.

"You've got a little something…" Sara laughs, lifting one hand from her now very large bump, and brushing glitter off Lincoln's face. Poppy beams at them from across the room, explains that she as making Uncle Linc pretty.

He knows that this is the stuff most people's dreams are made of; a family sitting snug in their house, presents under a beautiful tree, a log fire – well, a fake one – burning, an old CD of Christmas carols playing. But this isn't his dream; it's not his happy ending. He's just barging in on someone else's. Just like he has done for the past six years.

His gaze once again lands on the children, the three of them huddled under the tree, searching for the presents with their names on, shaking them the same way he used to with Michael on Christmas when they were kids. Linc had always imagined this scene with his own children. Sure, there was LJ, but he's hardly a child anymore, more like a grown man. And when he was that age, his father was sitting in jail on Christmas morning, or worse still, Lisa had told him he wasn't welcome and he'd spent the day at home with Michael, who always tried his hardest to make the holidays special, but inevitably it was never the same.

Often, Lincoln would daydream about the family he would never get to have. Him and Veronica, with their two children, snuggling up in a big bed on Christmas morning, exchanging gifts with big beaming smiles and not a care in the world beyond whether the turkey was going to cook properly, or how many pairs of hideous socks he would receive this year. They'd have two girls – just like Veronica had always wanted when they were kids themselves – with his smile, her eyes, and most definitely her kindness and patience. It's vivid in his imagination, the sight of them here, arguing with their cousins, Veronica's voice floating over the music, warning them to calm down, but not telling them off. She'd sing along with the Christmas carols and flounce around making mince pies and cookies, handing out egg nog to the adults and juice to the children. Knowing her, she'd be wearing a cheery red sweater with ridiculous woollen reindeers on and she'd force him to place a Christmas hat on his head, maybe even dress up as Santa Clause.

The image fades and Lincoln is left alone again. Sara is seated beside Michael by the tree; she takes the presents off the children and puts them safely back on the blanket covering the floor beneath the green leafy boughs. Poppy, Parker and Tilly are arguing again, as usual the twins pairing up to torment their younger sister and Linc looks away with a sad smile.

"Linc? You gonna join us?" Michael asks, as he lifts his three year old daughter away from her siblings, tickling her tummy lightly.

Lincoln nods. He may never get that dream ending of his own, but maybe, just for now, he should be content with being a part of someone else's happy ending.


End file.
